


nights of ink and dawn

by clachnaben



Category: England Series - K. J. Charles
Genre: Adventures, F/F, Paris - Freeform, Shopping, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:02:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27980454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clachnaben/pseuds/clachnaben
Summary: “Did Da Silva say what he wanted from us in Paris?” Pat said, once Fen had wriggled up against her side. Fen shook her head.“He was frightfully vague,” she said. “Just that he thought I deserved a nice holiday, and the tickets for the ferry and the address for a pension in Paris. It’s all very cloak and dagger, don’t you think?”
Relationships: Fenella Carruth/Patricia Merton
Comments: 22
Kudos: 45
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	nights of ink and dawn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [whetherwoman](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whetherwoman/gifts).



> thank you to whetherwoman for asking for Pat/Fen - I hope you enjoy!
> 
> thank you to [manybumblebees](https://archiveofourown.org/users/manybumblebees/pseuds/manybumblebees) for doing all the important edwardian clothes research  
> thank you to [anoneknewmoose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anoneknewmoose/pseuds/anoneknewmoose) for the wonderful beta
> 
> title is from [Smooth Horizon of the Verb Love](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/54487/smooth-horizon-of-the-verb-love) by Nicole Brossard

“Darling, come away from the railing,” Pat said, in an even tone of voice that betrayed none of the nervousness she most certainly felt. The sea spray kicked up around the ship, and Fen could taste the salt on her lips, feel the cold, bright spots of water on her arms. She was probably ruining her dress. She didn’t particularly care. 

“But isn’t it marvelous?” she said, looking over her shoulder at Pat, who looked decidedly green about the gills. Pat could march 20 miles in bad weather and never have a word of complaint, but put her on the ocean and she was as helpless as a babe in arms. In some ways, it was sweet. Fen so rarely had the better of Pat in the realm of the physical. Well, outside of the bedroom. 

“It’s wet and cold and it won’t stay still,” Pat said, still in the same tone of voice that she was using to hide how much she hated being on boats. Fen took pity on her and walked over from the railing to the covered area where Pat was sheltering. Pat watched her balance easily as the boat swayed with a single raised eyebrow. Within arm’s reach of Pat, she let herself get caught by one of the swells and fell into Pat’s waiting arms, squealing a little for effect. 

Pat looked down at her sardonically. 

“I would have held you without the dramatics darling,” she said, and Fen smiled. 

“I know,” she said. “But the dramatics are fun.”

Pat tightened her arms for a moment, and then let Fen stand on her own two feet. They were on the ferry to Calais, and the day was cold and overcast enough that the other passengers were all crowded inside. Fen had wanted to see the approaching shoreline, so Pat had indulged her and they were tucked in the limited privacy of the ship’s viewing deck. 

“Did Da Silva say what he wanted from us in Paris?” Pat said, once Fen had wriggled up against her side. Fen shook her head. 

“He was frightfully vague,” she said. “Just that he thought I deserved a nice holiday, and the tickets for the ferry and the address for a pension in Paris. It’s all very cloak and dagger, don’t you think?”

Pat pursed her lips. 

“I rung Curtis on the telephone this morning, before we left,” she said. “He said it was all hush hush and we should wait for Da Silva's word." 

“Well, that is exciting. Archie’s terribly bad at lying, maybe that’s why they’ve asked us. It is thrilling being a spy, isn’t it?” Fen said. 

“I think Da Silva might quibble with you about ‘spy’,” Pat said, but there was a little twinkle in her eye that Fen knew meant she was also thrilled by it. They’d spent the last year splitting their time between the London townhouse and country parties, some of them at Daniel’s request, on semi-official business, and some of them for pleasure. One of Pat’s mother’s relatives had asked Pat for help and they’d caught a nasty blackmailer trying to work on her. Fen had watched Pat do some excellent shooting and win a lovely medal she’d had framed and hung in the hall in the London house. But nothing had really challenged them. She’d been itching at it, the lack of anything new to do, and Pat had been tolerating her increasingly silly and erratic behaviour as a result. But now they had a new adventure, and they got a week’s stay in Paris as a bonus to it. She hoped Daniel had factored time for her to go shopping into her plans. Paris was supposed to have the best _lingerie_ and she hadn’t surprised Pat with anything fun recently. 

They couldn’t cuddle once the ship docked, and they were sharing their train carriage from Calais with a serious looking French woman. They both had passable school French and, once they’d arrived in Paris, Pat made pleasant conversation with their taxi driver while Fen watched the city pass out the window. It was more like London than she’d expected, especially since it was raining. 

“We’re here Fen,” Pat said, when the car drew to a stop. The pension was a neat, slim building, a little nicer than Fen expected, but not as nice as she would have picked for herself. A weedy boy in a uniform called her _mademoiselle_ ; and took their cases, and Fen took off her gloves so she could lay her hands on the high desk in the pension’s reception area. 

“Miss Fenella Carruth, and her companion,” she said, with a smile to the gentleman behind the deck. “I believe I have a room reserved.”

There was a little moment when they found the room and her key, and then he led them up to a pretty suite on the second floor, with a little iron-wrought balcony partially covered in ivy and some late spring flowers. There was a large display of cut flowers on the room’s table, with a card tucked in among the blooms.

“The gentleman who requested the room sent the flowers, mademoiselle,” the hotel receptionist said, with a sly little look. Fen dimpled, and gave him an empty-headed smile.

“Oh, he’s such a flirt isn’t it?” she said. Pat filled her role by looking serious and disapproving. The bell boy left their cases at the foot of each of the two beds, and Fen tipped him from her travelling purse, and then, finally, they were alone. 

“That man thinks you’ve come to Paris to have an affair, doesn’t he?” Pat said, long-sufferingly. Fen grinned at her. 

“I think that was Daniel’s intention with these,” she said, plucking the card from the display of hothouse flowers. She flipped open the card, clearly written in the hand of whichever poor florist had been made to carry the message. 

“My dearest Fenella,” she read aloud, and laughed when Pat pulled a face. “I know you have wished to enjoy the city of light - have I? - and hope you and your ever-watchful companion - that’s you Pat - can take advantage of all the delights the city has to offer. I have secured you two invitations to the delightful party held by Madame Heroux tomorrow evening on the Rue de Courcelles. I hope you will pay especial attention to my dear friends, Mr. and Mrs. Henderson, who have had much recent fortune in business. 

With deepest respect, 

DS”

“That seems like a very long-winded way of Da Silva saying he wants us to look into these Hendersons’ business interests,” Pat said, when Fen finished reading. 

“I suppose he doesn’t want anyone knowing what we’re really up to,” Fen said, folding away the note and tucking it inside her dress. “Well, I didn’t think to bring anything for a fancy party! We’ll have to go shopping.”

“Fen-” Pat said warningly, but Fen ignored her blithely. It was about time she had a new dress anyway.

&&&

“What do you think?” Fen said, stepping out of the modiste’s dressing room and into the visitor’s parlour. Pat was wearing a very practical walking dress and flicking through one of the fashion plate magazines the modiste left in the parlour. She gave Fen an assessing look.

"Well, you're certainly not going anywhere quickly in that," she said.

"I'm not intending to go anywhere quickly," Fen said. "I want to know how I _look_."

Pat glanced around quickly to check none of the maids had come back into the parlour, and then the look she gave Fen was very warm, and made the hair rise up on her arms very pleasurably. She loved it when Pat looked at her like that.

"It looks very lovely, my dear," Pat said, her voice a little thick. 

"How lovely?" Fen said, and sat down on the chaise lounge next to Pat, flipping her hair over one shoulder. She knew it gave Pat a very good view.

Pat lifted an eyebrow.

"You're fishing for compliments, dearest," she said. Fen leaned forward, extending one arm along the back of the sofa, giving Pat a straight view down the front of her dress. Pat didn't blush, but her cheeks were a warmer colour than usual.

"The neckline is a little daring," she said. Fen blinked at her slowly.

"Oh, is it?" she said innocently. She laid her hand on Pat's shoulder, tightening her fingers lightly. She watched Pat's nostrils flare. To anyone looking at them, they were only two good friends, sitting a respectable distance apart on the sofa, Fen’s hand gentle on Pat’s arm. But they both knew differently. Perhaps, someone with a particular frame of mind, or maybe someone who knew them well - Daniel perhaps, Archie didn’t have the dirty mind for it - would have noticed they way they leaned in towards each other, or the way Pat was deliberately trying not to look at her breasts. But Fen had long learned that most people only saw what they wanted to see. She didn’t need to say anything salacious to know she’d made Pat think of all the times they’d spent in bed together. She didn’t know which precise time, but it didn’t matter. For her part, Fen was thinking of the most recent time, the night before they’d come to Paris, and how glorious it felt when Pat kissed her breasts. 

There was a sound in the doorway, and Pat twitched. Fen merely looked up like they’d been interrupted mid-conversation. 

“Oh, excellent, I was just about to ring,” she said, to the dressmaker’s assistant in the door. “I’m quite taken with this. Do you think one would be able to be made up in green? For tomorrow evening, I’m attending a party.”

The girl bobbed a curtsey. 

“Your pardon, madame,” she said. “It will be difficult to have it ready for tomorrow.”

Fen smiled at her airily. 

“Have it charged to my account,” she said, and named their hotel. “And charge extra for the rush.”

“Of course Miss,” the girl said, and scurried off. Pat gave Fen a sardonic look. 

“Daniel’s going to accuse you of defrauding the public purse,” she said. 

“Well, he should be glad I didn’t buy you a new gun as well,” Fen said, and then paused. “Though I haven’t the faintest idea where one would buy a gun in Paris.”

“At one of the stores for gentlemen, I suppose,” Pat said practically. “You’ll have to wait till we’re back in London.”

Fen twinkled at her. 

“Don’t think you can fob me off, Patricia,” she said. “I want to buy you one of those honking big ones, like you used when we were in Scotland shooting at geese.”

“They were grouse, darling, and you mean a shotgun,” Pat said, understanding her perfectly. 

“Precisely,” Fen said. Pat always knew what she meant. She stood up, and rang for the dressing maid to help her out of the sample dress. She looked over her shoulder at Pat, before the girl arrived. “You might have to help me out of my corset, once we’re back at the pension,” she said, as her parting shot before she went back to the dressing room, feeling warm all over when she saw Pat’s flustered blush. 

&&&

The modiste delivered her dress to their pension the next afternoon, with compliments, and she admired it when they dressed for the party. She’d always looked good in green. Pat had to help her into the new corset she’d packed specially, grumbling all the while that it wasn’t practical, even though Fen knew Pat liked how she looked. They were both plain-speakers by nature, but had spent enough time together now that plain-speaking wasn’t often needed. They understood each other, and Fen knew, probably better than she knew anything else, that Pat loved her and thought her beautiful and always would. 

She helped Pat into her more practical but still fetching dress, although she didn’t need much help. Pat preferred to wear health corsets whenever she could, and their enquiries into the party had said it would be all kinds of mixed company. Quite daring. 

Not daring enough to get Pat into a trouser and shirt suit, like Fen had been trying for the last few years, but there’d be future trips to the continent to go to radical parties. They were on business. 

The city twinkled in the dark night through the windows of their cab on the way to the party, Pat making conversation with the driver in dogged French. When they pulled up to the grand house, it blazed with light, every window glittering, and the sound of a party in full swing echoed from the open door. Fen smiled. She loved the sound of a proper party. 

Pat gave her a hand out of the taxi, and Fen tucked her hand around her arm as they mounted the steps. Pat looked down at her and raised an eyebrow. 

“Just two young women attending a party together, as each other’s chaperones. Very proper, don’t you think, Miss Merton?” 

“Oh certainly, Miss Carruth,” Pat said with a smile, and they stepped through the open doorway. The butler bowed. 

“Good evening, miss,” he said, Fen already shucking her coat and handing it to one of the footmen. 

“Miss Carruth, and my companion, Miss Merton, I believe our invitations were set aside for us,” she said. One of the footmen took Pat’s coat, and Fen took her arm again, looking through into the crowded, glittering room.

“Oh, Miss Merton!” she said, in her silliest voice. “Isn’t it wonderful.”

Pat looked at her, every inch the serious lady’s companion. 

“It seems very decadent, Miss Carruth,” she said, but let Fen pull them through into the room. A band was playing, lively up-tempo music, and a waiter immediately swooped down to offer them two full glasses of champagne. They both accepted gladly, and Fen took a long drink. She could see Pat sipping her champagne slowly, her steady gaze taking in the room. It was certainly more daring than anything they’d attend in London. In the corner, a man had his hand on the forearm of the man he was talking to, casually possessive. In the next room, a few couples were dancing, pressed tightly against each other, closer than Fen usually liked to dance with men. 

“I wonder which ones are the Hendersons,” Pat said in a low voice. Fen took another long swallow of champagne, feeling the bubbles pop in his mouth and then fizz down her throat. 

“I suppose we shall just have to find out,” she said, passing her champagne glass off to a waiter so she could swan into the next room, casting her eye around the room like a woman looking for a dancing partner. Pat had been right about her neckline; it was _quite_ daring. She had an invitation to dance in minutes, and Pat simply gestured with her glass when she gave her an inquiring look. Pat never much cared who she danced with. They both knew they’d go home together at the end of the evening. 

Well, Pat had minded when Lady Steepleton had asked them to “discreetly” inquire about her son’s strange behaviour and Fen had danced with him at a ball and it had turned out he was a murderer. He’d confessed and Lady Steepleton had been horrified and very grateful for their support, and told all her friends about how discreet and efficient Fen and Pat had been. Fen couldn’t call it a business because it upset Pat to think she’d stooped to the trades, and they couldn’t precisely take money and remain ladies, but Lady Steepleton had given Fen a necklace worth a pretty penny as a “gift” and they lived quite happily off the proceeds of favours and gifts that came from solving the mysteries and discreet problems of society ladies. And Daniel would certainly pay them for this little jaunt; his prickly sense of honour and fairness demanded it. She knew Pat worried about money, more as a habit than because they needed to worry, but they were quite comfortable. 

The dance finished and the man who’d danced with her gave her a little half bow, still holding one of her hands. 

“Miss,” he said. “Thank you.”

“Miss Carruth, if you please,” Fen said, smiling at him. He wasn’t horrible looking. Maybe a little short, but he had pleasant brown eyes, and he’d been a nice dance partner. “I’m sorry, I don’t know anyone here, I’m positively on my own, aside from Miss Merton, of course. Would you introduce me around?”

“Oh, yes, my pleasure Miss Carruth,” he said, with a very pleasant French accent, like a rolling burr. “I am Adam Bardet. Please, let me show you!”

Mr. Bardet seemed very pleased to have her on his arm, although Fen did feel a little silly towering over him. She could see Pat out of the corner of her eye talking to some of the wallflowers. She mentally filed the names of everyone she met carefully, in case Daniel would think it relevant in the future, and smiled and simpered at each of them, giggling when several of the gentlemen bent over to kiss the back of her hand. 

“Oh, and here!” Adam said excitedly, when they reached a tall gentleman in a dark suit. “Here is the Mr. Henderson, a wonderful friend of this regular party. He is also English, perhaps you know each other?”

Mr. Henderson had a long thin nose that made it look like he was forever looking down it at you, and he gave Fen a long, almost slimy look, his eyes skating up from the train of her dress to trail uncomfortably slowly over her neckline before finally reaching her face. Fen kept her smile plastered on. She knew all the different ways men could look at women, the whole spectrum from Archie’s friendly but bemused disinterest, to this, a real specimen of the skin-crawling genus. 

“I am sure I would remember if I had the acquaintance of the young lady,” he said, bending over to kiss the back of Fen’s hand. She resisted the urge to snatch her hand back from him, and mentally imagined Daniel arresting him to make herself feel better. 

“Mr. Henderson,” she said. “Such a pleasure to meet you. Mr. Bardet was just telling me about your recent investment! It sounds so wonderfully thrilling.”

“Oh, really?” he said. She smiled at him, keeping his attention on her even as Adam made a confused face. 

“It all seemed much too complicated for me, but Daddy’s always saying I should have a better head for figures so he can tell me all about his investments. But as soon as someone mentions money all I can think about is the dresses and shoes it can buy, I just can’t help myself!” she said, throwing her hands up at the end like she couldn’t believe herself. Mr. Henderson looked at her with pity, his smile sharp with the edge of cruelty she could detect in his gaze. He liked that she seemed stupid, which was never a good sign. 

“If you’d do me the honour of a dance, I’m sure I could go into more detail,” he said. Fen definitely didn’t want to dance with him, and, gratefully, managed to catch Pat’s eye across the room. Pat cut an intimidating figure through the room, coming up to Fen’s side. 

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly leave Miss Merton on her own,” Fen said, immediately putting her hands on Pat’s arms. “We’re just inseparable you know.”

Mr. Henderson raised an eyebrow. 

“Pat is just so practical, you know. I’m sure if you explain your work to us both, she could explain it to me,” Fen said, batting her eyelashes. 

“Well,” he said, his sense of self-importance clearly flattered. “Import-export is very complicated.”

“I’m sure,” Fen said, snatching two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter, and passing one to him. “Something to wet your throat?”

“Oh, yes, thank you,” he said. “I’m sure my wife would like one too, she’s around here somewhere.”

He glanced around without a great deal of effort, hardly putting his back into it. 

“Perhaps she’s in the sitting room, for some quiet?” Pat suggested quietly, and Fen nodded furiously. 

“Of course, just the thing, why don’t we go look for her together and you can tell me about import-export, I’m sure I can keep some of the details straight!” she said, and looked at Mr. Henderson encouragingly until he got the hint and led them through to the sitting room. Fen took an empty settee, making sure Pat sat down next to her and Mr. Henderson had to take the settee across from them, looking a little lonely. Fen knew from experience how much Pat’s stolid gaze could make someone want to talk. She sipped her champagne.

“Where do you export to, Mr. Henderson?” she asked innocently. He took a large gulp of his own drink. He was a little red, like this wasn’t his first drink. 

“Well, mostly back to old Britannia mostly,” he said. “The French take a loose view of some of the laws of, well, chemical licensing I should say. It can be quite lucrative.” 

“Chemicals, that sounds complicated,” Fen said, thinking quickly. “Are you a chemist, Mr. Henderson?”

Henderson laughed in the horrible slimy way that Fen recognised as the kind of way people laughed when they thought they knew something you didn’t. 

“Not precisely, no,” he said. “But I do enjoy the results of the science.” He paused, and Fen let the silence drag, to see if he would try and fill it. Their luck was in, and he seemed like he wanted to impress them. “It’s fueled so many of these wonderful parties, if you know what I mean.”

Fen sipped her champagne, watching him look at her. He liked the attention, he liked being flattered, he liked her thinking he was smart. She thought he’d probably tell her what she wanted if she just asked.

“I’m not sure I do know what you mean,” she said, keeping her voice light. “It’s just sometimes I miss the silliest things, you know, I just need things spelled out. Could you let a poor girl in on the secret?” 

Henderson grinned, looking smug and flushed, high on the alcohol and attention. 

“I could probably procure some for you, to help you, if you’d like,” he said. Fen blinked at him. 

“Some what, Mr. Henderson?”

“What’s your pleasure?” he said, sipping his drink. “Cocaine? Heroin? Pep up pills? The ladies tend to prefer the pills, but there’s nothing wrong with a little cigarillo.”

Fen blinked at him again, but kept her smile in place. 

“That sounds a little more exciting than I’m used to!” she said brightly. 

Pat crossed her ankles slowly next to her. 

“Not really the kind of excitement we’re interested in, Mr. Henderson,” she said flatly. Fen saw his expression falter, suddenly confronted with Pat’s coolness. Pat’s eyes flicked up, and she said, “Ah, is this your wife?”

“James, who is this?” said the woman standing next to the settee, wearing a truly massive necklace that swallowed her up and made her look like she was bobbing on a sea of crystals.

“Our apologies Mrs. Henderson,” Pat said, rising and taking Fen with her. “I think it’s time we took our leave.”

“Thank you, you’ve been so educational!” Fen said brightly, leaving the two of them staring, as her and Pat turned and left. One of the staff had their coats at the door and the steady trickle of party-goers leaving and arriving meant they caught a cab easily. They were back in the entrance way of the pension before the hour was up, church bells chiming faintly in the distance. 

She scrawled a quick telegram to Daniel, signing off with kisses because she knew it would make Daniel grimace, and passed it to the receptionist with a tip for getting it to the telegram office first thing in the morning. Pat had gone ahead to the room and when Fen opened their door, she was already undoing the buttons at top of her dress. 

“I was hoping you’d let me do that,” Fen said, closing the door behind them and locking it. Pat looked over her shoulder, her arms twisted to reach the back of her neck.

“You were taking too long,” she said, with a smile. “Were you writing to Da Silva?”

“Just a telegram, the receptionist will send it tomorrow. He can write if there's more he wants from us,” Fen said, putting her evening bag down on one of the end tables. She put a hand on Pat’s shoulder, feeling the warmth of her skin. “Let me?” she said, slowly lifting Pat’s hand from one of the buttons.

Pat’s shoulders relaxed, and she released her arms. 

“Of course dear,” she said, and Fen kissed the back of her neck gently, above her high collar, undoing the buttons without looking, exposing the wing of Pat’s shoulderblade and the material of her corset and, under that, her tantalisingly thin chemise. Fen brushed her lips against the top of Pat’s spine, smelling the alcohol and smoke of the party and, under it, the familiar smell of Pat’s practical soap. 

“Come round, I’ll unbutton you,” Pat said, when Fen had finished all of her buttons and they were just holding each other, Fen’s hands around her waist. Fen leaned back and loosened the laces of Pat’s health corset, enough that Pat could pull it off herself, leaving her in her chemise, and her practical long stockings, which she sat on the bed to roll down. Fen had watched her undress hundreds of times by now, in everything from long underwear to ballgowns. There was always something about Pat rolling down her stocking, the every-day practicality of it, the easy gentleness, the way Fen knew every part of her, from the unremarkable back of her calf to her clever fingers, from the arch of her foot to the curl of her hair pinned at the nape of her neck. She sat down on the bed and turned her back to Pat, before she thought too much about all the time they’d spent together and got maudlin. 

“Would you?” she asked, and felt Pat’s fingers at her back, just above the dip of her dress. They were a little cold, and Fen shivered slightly, from the chill. Pat undid each button slowly, peeling the dress away gently, and then unlaced her corset, rubbing where it had dug into her skin through her undergarments. Fen sighed. She liked nice clothes, and she liked dressing up, but there was nothing like the feeling of taking a dress off at the end of a long day. It felt amazing. It was enough to make her envy Pat her health corset. Behind her, Pat bent and kissed the back of her neck softly, then Pat pulled back and stood to step out of her chemise, finally completely naked. 

“Come to bed darling,” she said, and Fen swallowed, her fingers working clumsily at the waist tie of her chemise. Pat was beautiful. 

“I’d rather kiss you,” she said, and Pat smiled. 

“You can kiss me in bed, you know,” she said, but bent over to take Fen’s hands from the tie of her chemise and, smiling, kiss her gently, their mouths lush against each other. Pat’s gentle hands slid Fen’s chemise down her shoulders, her fingertips trailing over Fen’s shoulders, down the dip of her spine, making her shiver. It had always been easy with Pat, and now, years of being by each other's sides, made it easier. Fen never felt nervous now, in Pat’s arms, only warm and alive.

With her chemise down to her waist, Fen extracted herself from the kiss to kick it and her dress fully off and then fell back into bed, holding out her arms for Pat. The view of her, finally free from all her layers of clothes, made Fen squeeze her legs together in delight and arousal, especially when Pat put one knee up on the bed and Fen could watch the muscles of her legs and stomach, the firmness where Fen was soft, the tantalising view between her legs. 

“God, Pat, you’re glorious,” Fen said, catching her around the arm and sitting up to reel her in, kissing her stomach, the side of her breasts. 

Pat huffed and, when Fen looked up, she was blushing. 

“Don’t be silly,” she said. Fen kissed her again, the smoothness of her skin. Pat liked the strength that came from extensive walks, from carrying a heavy gun across rough terrain, and worked hard for it. Fen liked how strong Pat was, and there’d been plenty of times where they’d been in a rough spot together and had relied on her because of it, but she was also shallow: she liked how Pat looked. 

“I’m not being silly,” she said, turning her head to look up at Pat, resting her cheek against Pat’s stomach, taking in the truly impressive view of her breasts, her nipples just peaking in the cold. “You’re beautiful.” 

Pat’s cheeks turned redder, but at least this time she didn’t try to deflect. 

“Come up here and kiss me then,” she said. Fen laughed, and pulled her down until they were lying in each other’s arms, Pat on top of her, their breasts pressing against each other. Pat’s body was warm, and her leg pressed up against Fen’s cunt, a steady all over pressure that made her breath a little more deeply, warmth spreading through her body. She trailed a hand over Pat’s shoulder and then cupped her breast, running her thumb over her nipple, listening to the way her breath caught. They kissed for a long time, their tongues sliding across each other, their hands roving over every part of skin they could touch. She was soft and wet between her legs, leaving wetness on Pat’s thigh, and she could hear Pat’s breath coming more quickly. 

“Fen,” she said, like she wanted to ask her for something but wasn’t sure what. Fen smiled, and kissed Pat’s collarbone, reaching down to stroke gently over Pat’s cunt, feeling how wet she was between the soft folds of skin. “Ah, Fen,” she said as Fen rubbed two fingers over her clit, using her wetness to smooth the way. “There.”

Fen hummed happily, kissing Pat’s chest and then bent her head to lick at her nipples, pressing more firmly with her fingers, feeling for the rhythm of Pat moving against her. Pat braced herself on her elbow, breathing heavily over Fen, her eyes fluttering closed. She looked beautiful, even flushed and panting and on the edge of her pleasure. Fen loved her. 

“Good?” Fen asked, pressing harder, feeling where Pat was swollen and hard. Pat nodded, the tension in her neck standing out, her arm trembling. 

“Ah, yes,” she said, shaking, and then gasped loudly. Her arm gave out and she collapsed onto Fen, shivering. 

“Ooft,” Fen said, the air knocked out of her. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Pat said, still catching her breath, but didn’t move. Fen patted her shoulder with her free hand.

“Perfectly alright, my dear,” she said. She crooked her fingers, feeling the gentle twitch of Pat’s clit, and Pat gasped. “Are you done do you think?”

“Ah, no, here, just,” Pat said breathily, and reached down to hold Fen’s hand in place, slipping just the tips of Fen’s fingers inside her and holding her there, hitching her hips in steady movement. Like this, not focusing on movement, her wrist held in place by Pat’s firm grip, Fen could watch Pat’s face, the way the small frown between her eyebrows smoothed out and her expression went slack until finally she shuddered and let out a long breath, the only sign anything had happened. Sometimes they took Pat that way. It was glorious to watch.

“Pat, do you want more?” she asked, when Pat didn’t move for a long moment. She twitched her fingers, feeling how soft Pat was, the way her body tightened. 

“Ah,” Pat twitched, and slowly pulled Fen’s hand away, letting her leave a sticky mark on her stomach. “No, no, I think that’s me for the evening. Give me a moment, I’m not forgetting you,” she said, into the curve of Fen’s neck.

Fen laughed, and kissed the top of her head, catching the gentle scent of Pat’s hair. 

“Take your time, dearest,” she said, and wriggled under Pat’s weight, making both of them giggle. 

“Hold still,” Pat said, putting a hand on her hip bone, her fingers brushing against her pubic hair, tantalisingly close. Fen blinked at her. 

“Am I being given an incentive to hold still? Or is that just a general request?” she asked sweetly, and Pat snorted. 

“You’re so cheeky,” she said. Fen grinned. 

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean-” she said, and then cut herself off when Pat crawled down the bed and settled between her legs. Some of her hair had come unpinned, and a thick curl fell over her forehead and down her cheek. She had a faint frown of concentration as she found her place with her hands, and then Fen wasn’t watching her face anymore, she was looking at the ceiling as her body bowed in reaction to the slick pressure of Pat’s tongue. It felt amazing, the way it flowed through all of her, the way she couldn’t help but react. 

Pat knew her well and didn’t stop, just rode the movement and put an arm over her hips to hold her down. The pleasure built in long pulses, Pat taking her there with her clever mouth and the firm pressure of her hand, not teasing her at all. Fen just had to lie there and take it, even as she twisted and squirmed, fisting the sheets, panting and moaning as loudly as she wanted because they were somewhere no one knew them, in a hotel they could leave whenever they wanted. It was freeing, and she took full advantage of it, moaning Pat’s name even as she felt the edge coming and tumbled over it, shouting and shaking. 

Pat released her as she came down, resting her head on Fen’s thigh, her mouth a little shiny and her hair even more mussed. Fen reached out for her. 

“That was incredible,” she said breathlessly, and Pat wiped her mouth with the back of her hand carelessly, smiling at her. 

“You’re flattering me,” she said, her cheeks flushed. Fen grabbed her hand and kissed the back of her knuckles. 

“As well I should,” she said, feeling full of sweetness, the pleasure, her happiness, love. 

Pat didn’t roll her eyes, but she did tug at the sheet rucked up underneath Fen until she moved and then could crawl under it, Pat cuddling up to hold her, her nose pressed against the back of Fen’s neck. They lay like that for a long moment, their breaths matched to each other. Fen was starting to doze when Pat mumbled against the wisps of her hair. 

“I should get my nightgown,” Pat said, with a sigh. “And unpin my hair. So should you.”

Fen wriggled to get closer to her, and hold her hands in hers. 

“In a moment,” she said sleepily. “We have time.”


End file.
